It is possible to get a degree in Engineering by merely passing

The words of Ravichandran Ashwin, master spinner and thinker of the game, carry wisdom far beyond the boundaries of cricket: “It is possible to get a degree in Engineering by merely passing the exams and not really learning the concepts in depth, and also get a job based on that degree. Similarly, a cricketer can waste the opportunities in the nets and in training, and with some talent still play professional cricket.” Beneath these calm words lies a warning as old as civilization itself—the difference between achievement and mastery, between appearance and truth. For in every age, there are those who seek the prize without seeking the purpose, who cross the finish line yet never run the real race.

Ashwin speaks not only to engineers and athletes, but to all who walk the path of discipline. He reminds us that knowledge without depth is a fragile victory. One may wear the robe of the scholar or the jersey of the player, yet still be hollow within. The degree, the contract, the applause—these are but shadows of accomplishment if the heart and mind have not been shaped by genuine learning. Like a tree with shallow roots, such success may look strong for a season, but when the storm comes, it falls with a single gust.

There is a profound irony in the world Ashwin describes. The student who passes exams without understanding, the cricketer who skips the discipline of training—they both achieve what others see as success. Yet what they gain is merely status without substance, motion without meaning. They live on borrowed talent or memory, never discovering the deeper joy that lies in true understanding. For the wise know that the purpose of learning or practice is not to finish, but to transform.

History gives us countless examples of this truth. Consider Leonardo da Vinci, who could have been content with painting as others did—but he chose to dissect bodies, study light, and understand the mechanics of wings. He did not seek mastery for fame, but for truth. Or look to Sachin Tendulkar, who, despite his natural genius, was the first to arrive at the nets and the last to leave. It was not his talent alone that made him immortal—it was his devotion to the craft. The difference between talent and mastery lies in what one does when no one is watching.

Ashwin, a man of intellect and reflection, knows that cricket mirrors life. In the nets, a player faces his own weaknesses; in the classroom, a student faces his own ignorance. The one who merely passes time in training, or crams for a test, may reach the next stage—but will remain forever incomplete. The discipline of practice is the fire that purifies potential into power. Without that fire, talent becomes complacency, and knowledge becomes vanity.

The ancient teachers understood this well. The philosopher Aristotle said, “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit.” It is not enough to perform once or twice; the greatness of spirit is forged in repetition, in diligence, in unseen effort. Ashwin’s warning reminds us that in both study and sport, the greatest tragedy is not failure—it is success without depth, victory without growth.

Therefore, let the seeker of wisdom remember: your degree is only a door, your training only a tool. What matters is what you build with them. Study not to pass, but to understand. Practice not to perform, but to perfect. Let no moment of learning or training pass unused, for every small act of diligence shapes the unseen foundation of greatness.

In the end, Ashwin’s words are not a criticism—they are a challenge. They call us to live with integrity in our craft, to reject the easy path of appearances, and to embrace the lifelong discipline of mastery. Whether in sport, study, or life itself, the truth remains: talent may open the gate, but only effort walks through it.